Prom: Short for promenade, which refers to when guests march around at the beginning of a ball or cotillion. Proms took their cue from the exclusive debutante balls; so what we now refer to and obsess on as Prom is in essence a down-market version of the Crillon Ball of Paris.
Like one would promote dressing this way more than once?
Teen Prom, Adult Prom, both concepts elude me. Seems as though there is this rising trend in Adult Proms, which they are referring to as Do-Overs. Since I did not go to my high school prom (*see below), I guess there is nothing for me to do-over. And if I was to “do-over” anything, I would not start with prom. The New York Times has an article called A Second Shot to Have the Best Night of Their Lives, and the title makes me wonder, “Could prom have been better than Watkins Glen or Studio 54 circa 1977?” As one of the core club kids at Studio 54, I hardly doubt that looking at sherbert colored dressed on chubby girls can compare to doing Quaaludes with Liza Minelli and Stephen Burrows. Prom is everywhere, starting with the movie, Prom, by Disney coupled with the recent episode of Glee, where the honor of Prom Queen was bestowed upon an actual queen, Chris Colfer, the gay guy. My client Roy Teeluck‘s daughter was featured in Seventeen getting her prom locks locked in and Donate My Dress, the organization that recycles used, unwanted party dresses to under-served teens makes me wonder if there’s a spin-off movie in them there hills called The Sisterhood of the Traveling Prom Dress.
This classic ugly prom dress was worth sharing. It is an homage to that MTV show, 16 and Pregnant.
Don’t get me wrong, many of these Adult Proms are actually fundraisers for good causes, but as a seasoned event producer, any time you promote bad dresses as the key ingredient to your event, well, let’s just say that on my list of “Will Never Dos” are weddings, Bar Mitzvahs and now Proms (adult or otherwise). * Why I Did Not Go To Prom I went to Dwight Morrow High School in Englewood, New Jersey. What is otherwise a lovely hamlet nestled in the Palisades, my particular school–which I was bussed t0–was quite a rowdy place. In those four years, we went through four different principals, each chased off the campus, running for dear life, one clutching her pearls. We were constantly on the news for muggings and beatings and if you wonder how I survived without getting my ass kicked, well, I became a Quaalude dealer and was surely one of the more well-liked guys around. Did I need to go to prom? No. Was my house a good after-party? Yes.
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